"Mr. Fleet," she gasped, "do you know anything I do not?"
He could hide the truth no longer. Indeed it was time she should learn it. Turning and taking her trembling hand, he looked at her so sadly and kindly that she at once knew her father was dead.
"Oh, my father!" she cried, in a tone of anguish that he could never forget, "you will never, never know. All day I have been longing to prove to you the truth of Christianity by my loving, patient tenderness, but you have died, and will never know," she moaned, shudderingly.
He still held her hand—indeed she clung to his as to something that might help sustain her in the dark, bitter hour.
"Poor, poor father!" she cried; "I never treated him as I ought, and now he will never know the wealth of love I was hoping to lavish on him." Then, looking at Dennis almost reproachfully, she said: "Could you not save him? You saved so many others."
"Indeed I could not, Miss Ludolph; I tried, and nearly lost my life in the effort. The great hotel behind the store fell and crushed all in a moment."
She shuddered, but at last whispered, "Why have you kept this so long from me?"
"How could I tell you when the blow would have been death? Even now you can scarcely bear it."
"My little beginning of faith is sorely tried. Heavenly Spirit," she cried, "guide me through this darkness, and let not doubt and unbelief cloud my mind again."
"Such prayer will be answered," said Dennis, in a deep, low tone.